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Thursday, February 13, 2014

Blind Speed Dating #40 (A)

Title: WAITING FOR EL GRECO

Genre: Literary Fiction - Short Story
Collection

Word Count: 75,000

Query:

An American woman betrays her brother
only to lose him to a Taliban bullet, then must confront her demons during a
vacation in Morocco. A decadent Spanish aristocrat seduces a naïve
American and tricks him - almost - into helping her fence an El Greco of
dubious provenance. A grieving woman faces down her jealousy and enlists
her late husband's lover to help scatter his ashes at sea. An autistic
boy, neglected by his parents, takes matters (and an aircraft) into his own
hands.

The stories in “Waiting for El Greco”
take us from Morocco to Madrid, from Colorado to Chongqing, from the Chilean
backlands to Appalachia. The fusion of exotic locations with brisk
plotting and deeply felt human conflict led master storyteller Jim Shepard
(“Love and Hydrogen,” “You Think That’s Bad”) to call my writing
"arrestingly good." Among the stories are the winner of the
2013 Nelligan Prize, a runner-up for the 2013 Nelson Algren Award, a Pushcart
nominee, and a Glimmer Train honorable mention.

My work has appeared in the Bellevue
Literary Review, Colorado Review, Printers Row Journal, In Digest, and Cobalt
Review, and has been produced theatrically in both Chicago and Denver. I am
currently completing a novel and continue to publish stories.

First 250:

In July, seven months to the day after
her brother’s death, they arrive in Merzouga, Morocco, gateway to the dune sea
of Erg Chebbi. The trip is meant to be a healing interlude, a brief
escape; by immersing her in this place of exotic sights and sounds he’s hoped
to give her a short respite from her grief. But everything has gone
wrong—a missed connection in Frankfurt, his billfold stolen in a Casablanca
hamam, a bout of diarrhea that kept them from enjoying the lavish riad in
Essaouira. The grinding logistics of travel have steadily overwhelmed
their interest in their surroundings. Now, in the sand-blown streets of
this tenuous Saharan town, its mud-brick houses strung together with exposed
electrical wires, they have lost the energy to keep talking. For an hour
they've walked in the killing heat without exchanging a word. Even the
effort of silence is draining.

They pass a horse cart carrying four
women in black burkhas, jumbled against one another like quarry rocks.
Earlier in the trip they would have taken a furtive snapshot of the
scene, but it no longer matters. The bucking road trip from Erfoud has
defeated them, and the heat that permeates everything, and the extreme dryness
of the air, and the blackflies that seek out the eyes for the meager moisture
they offer. Eventually they head back to the hotel, shut themselves in
their spartan room with the clattering air conditioner turned high, and fall
asleep in their separate beds.